


Daughter of Winterfell

by prettycreepy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettycreepy/pseuds/prettycreepy
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Aegon VI Targaryen
Comments: 13
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

“Sansa, please.” Theon’s voice, while quiet, was desperate and full of fear. 

‘I’m trying…’ Sansa thought miserably. She was unable to speak, but was vaguely aware of his tug on her arm that pulled her along with more than a little force. She could still hear the baying of hounds in the distance, a cacophony of deep bellows that rang throughout the forest with frightening clarity. They had been running for nearly a day and a half with very little rest and since they hadn’t exactly planned their escape, there was no food. Sense told her that they couldn’t keep going like this much longer, but thanks to the adrenaline coursing through her system she was able to stay upright and moving for the time being. 

As far as she could tell they were still somewhere south of Winterfell, trying to stay within the forested areas as much as they possibly could. Straying out into the rolling snow covered hills would give them no cover and practically guaranteed their capture, which was something neither of them were willing to risk. 

‘Gods…’ She prayed, narrowly avoiding a fallen branch that snagged at her skirts. ‘Let the hounds tear me apart before you send me back to him.’ Sansa felt that Theon would agree with her sentiment if they could stop to discuss the matter, but as that was out of the question she had to take it on faith that they would both willing greet death before returning to Ramsay Bolton. Though the chances of them being afforded that luxury was frighteningly low. 

Baying, closer and more ferocious reached her ears and it drew Sansa out of her head and back into her body with a shock. Their pursuers, who were less bogged down by injury and exposure, were gaining on them rapidly. She tried to push herself to move faster, to run if she could, but her legs protested ruthlessly. 

All of a sudden Theon stopped, nearly making her fall as he jerked her to a stop with him. He turned, and the look of resigned defeat on his face frightened her to her core. “You have to go on Sansa.”

She shook her head firmly, but even as she did so she could feel the urge to move building as the hounds drew closer. “I can’t leave you, we need to keep moving.”

“You must. They’ll catch us if we stay together, but if we split up you might have a chance on your own. I can at least buy you sometime. After what I’ve done, I owe you that much. Start moving north, try to get to Castle Black. ” He looked around, his eyes landing on a clear spot between two trees. “I’ll stay here for a while longer and then try and draw them that way, you cross that way.” He said, pointing to a small stream. The uncertainty Sansa felt must have shown on her face because he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her a little for emphasis. “You keep going until you find someone, anyone. If not…” He reached into his layers of fur and produced a very small but sharp blade before pressing it into her hand. “Don’t let them take you alive.”

Sansa swallowed heavily and took the knife, thankful and horrified beyond measure. He was giving up the only weapon he had so that she wouldn’t have to face what they both knew was a fate worse than death. Fully aware of the magnitude of the gesture, she steeled herself and nodded, wrapping her hand around the hilt. Without further delay Theon turned her around and gave her a little shove. “Go. Now.” 

She allowed herself one last moment of hesitation to look back over her shoulder before she shot off across the stream, the cold water splashing up her legs and filling her shoes. The already ready half frozen heavy skirts made movement difficult and Sansa stumbled on the other side, barely catching herself before she hit the ground. With effort she righted herself and kept going.

In an attempt to make the most of the opportunity given to her, Sansa ran until she collapsed, falling onto her knees into a pile of dead leaves and snow. She couldn’t tell how far she had come but from the way her muscles burned she guessed it was some distance. The raucous sounds of pursuit had ceased and the forest around her was quiet, save for her own labored breathing, loud and uneven as her body tried to replenish the air she had deprived it of for so long. 

She knelt there for a few moments, taking stock of herself and the surrounding area. She needed a place to rest where she would be out of sight and her heart lightened when she found it. A few feet away stood a tree with a large portion of its roots exposed, dug out by some previous animal inhabitant but currently unoccupied and more than tempting. She hastily crawled beneath it and huddled as deeply into the crevice as she could manage, her back pressed against roots and crumbling bits of earth. It was by no means warm, but it was sheltered from the harsher bites of the wind and she was thankful for it. Feeling industrious and desperately needing to find as much warmth as possible, she piled small bits of leaves and dead branches around her until she was completely covered. As comfortable as she could be in her little nest, Sansa closed her eyes, giving way to exhaustion. 

Sansa woke with a start sometime later, her head jerking off the ground as panic flooded her waking body. The baying was back, distant but unmistakably there and she was up and out of her impromptu bed, running like a madwoman before she knew what had happened. She tried to process as she moved, confusion and alarm fading bit by bit as her mind came fully awake. How long had she been asleep? She had parted ways with Theon just after dawn, but it was at least noon now and she cursed herself brutally as she realized what she had done. 

The small lead Theon had likely given his life for had been entirely lost while she slept beneath the fallen tree, and there was little hope of regaining it. 

Guilt and fear took hold of her and tears started to streak her face, sending silver droplets flying off as she tore through the trees. Branches reached out from all around like so many hands, all of them trying to slow her progress. 

She saw a break ahead, maybe a road but likely a clearing, though it mattered little. Whatever it was she was headed directly for it with increasing haste. There was no guarantee that safety waited beyond the trees but she had to keep moving, had to keep fighting. 

Within seconds Sansa burst through the sparse foliage, finding it to indeed be a clearing.

Not only a clearing, but an occupied one. 

Before Sansa stood a small group of men, mounted and armed, all staring at her with equal looks of shock and confusion. They were of varying ages but seemed to be of one company by their dress. Her eyes searched desperately for a banner, a sigil, anything that would identify them to her and blinked stupidly at what she was presented with. There were no flayed men present, nor any Northern banners at all. Black banners adorned with a crimson three headed dragon glared down at her, both imposing and somewhat mystical in its improbability. 

Thanks to her captivity and Ramsay’s efforts she’d heard very few details about the returned Targaryen prince or his sudden and surprising victories, but Sansa had the very odd sense that she was staring directly at him. She could see the Targaryen sigil emblazoned on his leather breastplate beneath his black cloak and his hair... She’d never seen hair so light before. It hung just past his shoulders and in contrast to his dark cloak looked nearly white. Violet eyes of an equally striking color looked down at her, taking in what Sansa was sure was the most bedraggled sight that could be conceived of. She was filthy, blood stained, and likely unrecognizable to someone who had known her, let alone strangers. 

Sansa dropped to her knees, the energy leaving her body just as quickly as it had come minutes ago. “Please, I-” Her voice was barely audible, dry and rasping. Would they believe her if she told them her name? Better yet, would they care? 

“I'm Sansa Stark... Daughter of Ned... and Catelyn Stark… _Please_ , help me.”


	2. Salvation

It took the use of both her arms to keep herself held upright, making her feel like the beggar she had been reduced to by her so-called husband. Sansa gritted her teeth, forcing herself to keep her head up as she watched the young man swing confidently down from his horse, push his hair from his face and drop to one knee before her, looking something like a painting of an ethereal creature. In her current state she envied such grace and ease of motion and almost muttered something like ‘showoff’ underneath her breath, but thought that might be a bit uncharitable considering her current position. 

The other men began to dismount and walk towards the incoming hounds, moving into a protective line with their weapons drawn. The young man watched until he was sure that the perimeter was secure before directing all his attention towards Sansa.

“Lady Stark, my name is Aegon Targaryen. Can you stand?” He offered her a gloved hand and she took it, using it to steady herself as her muscles stretched painfully beneath her. “I’m surprised to find you so far from Winterfell, my lady.” With one hand he unfastened the cloak around his neck and wrapped it around her. “Am I correct in understanding that it is not your wish to return there?”

 _“I can’t.”_ She pleaded, glancing back over her shoulder, the sound of barking becoming almost too much for her to handle. “Please.”

Whatever her face and words conveyed must have been enough because he turned her towards his horse at once, motioning for her to get on. “We need to leave then, before they see you. My men will take care of the hounds and their masters.” After a quick boost from the Targaryen Sansa was sitting astride the beast, her numb fingers digging into the saddle for balance. A moment later Aegon was behind her, pulling her close as he began to lead the horse, kicking it into a gallop. 

As they moved the sense of urgency she’d carried began to ease as the sounds of the dogs faded away into the background, but she couldn’t relax completely. She might be temporarily out of mortal peril, but she knew virtually nothing about the man sitting behind her and she would be lying if she said it didn’t unnerve her. As though he could sense her discomfort he spoke, breaking the silence.

“Gods, you’re frozen to the core.” He said,a hint of shock in his voice. “How long have you been out here?” 

“Two days. Give or take a few hours.” Sansa said casually, too tired to fix her voice or watch her words. The warmth of his cloak was slowly beginning to seep into her body, bringing back bits of feeling as it spread. She knew she wouldn’t be completely warm until she was out of her godforsaken frozen dress, but she was more than grateful for the cloak as the wind whipped past them. She looked around at the ice covered trees as they rode, wondering just how far away Aegon’s camp was.

“Bolton’s had men pursuing you all this time?” 

She answered simply, bobbing her head and trying to speak loud enough to be heard. “Yes. If it weren’t for Theon, I’m not sure I would have made it half as long.” 

“Theon?” Aegon asked, “Theon Greyjoy? All of the intelligence we’ve been able to gather says Theon was killed when Winterfell was taken from him. You mean to say he’s alive?”

“He was.” Sansa said, feeling familiar spiky tendrils of guilt take hold of her. “We escaped together, but when it became clear we weren’t going to make it Theon stayed behind to try and lead the men away from me.” She couldn't help but wonder, would they have taken the time to return Theon to the castle or would they simply drag him along until they captured her as well? She sat up straighter all of a sudden, trying to twist around in the saddle to face him in her urgency. “We need to go back, Theon could be with them, your men might-”

“Lady Sansa, my men do not kill prisoners, if Theon Greyjoy is with them he’ll be brought back to camp.”

“And if he isn’t with them?” She asked tentatively, slowly turning back around.

“I’ll send out a search party. We’ll either find Theon or evidence he’s been returned to Winterfell.”

Sansa noted that he made no promise to return Theon alive, but thought that might only be practicality on his part. 

They rode on in silence, neither of them quite sure what to say to the other and Sansa so exhausted that even the horse’s movement couldn’t keep her completely awake. Her head would lull for a moment and she would fade away, only to be jerked back to reality a few seconds later, dazed and scared. She wasn’t sure how long she spent in that uneasy limbo but when she woke for the final time it was to Aegon gently shaking her shoulder from behind. 

“Sansa? Sansa, are you alright?” 

It took a moment for her to answer but she did with a small nod. “I’m just very tired, and very, very cold.”

“We’ll get you inside, hold on just a little longer.”

With a shock she felt Aegon disappear and with him went a majority of her warmth, replaced with the familiar biting cold his body had sheltered her from. Her frozen limbs began to shake as she was helped down from the horse, where she promptly collapsed, completely incapable of moving another inch on her own. 

Fortunately she didn’t have to.

Aegon, who was apparently more than capable, lifted her carefully from the ground like she weighed nothing at all, shouting orders confidently as he did so. It was then that Sansa noticed the crowd of curious onlookers that had popped up around them, and finding none of the faces familiar, promptly closing her eyes. Hoovering on the edge of sleep she listened as people began to move with purpose, the level of noise raising measurably. Curiously though, after a moment or so the noise started to dissolve as did the rest of her world, each sensation giving over to the comfort of the nothingness. 

===========

“Quickly!” Aegon yelled as he entered the tent, shifting the young woman onto the waiting cot. He’d been able to keep her awake most of the ride but now she wasn’t responding, her strength nearly gone. He watched her face intently, desperately wanting her to live. It was such a miracle that she had lasted so long out there that he couldn’t stand the thought of her dying just as she reached safety. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder and jerked away in surprise, but relaxed at the sight of Maggie. 

The woman who had once been a respected Septa was one of the two people that Aegon trusted implicitly, having known her for as long as he could remember. Though never quite a mother to him, she’d been instrumental in his upbringing and helped shaped him into the man he was now. Of the many talents Maggie was known to have, healing was one of them and she was the one person, second only perhaps to his maester, that Aegon believed could pull someone from the brink of death.

“Go. We need to get her out of these rags and get her warmed up.” Maggie said, directing two women towards the bed with a wave of her hand. “ Don’t worry. You know I'll take care of her.” She added, gently turning Aegon towards the tent's entrance. He didn’t actually resist but he did feel uneasy as he stepped outside into the bright afternoon sun, hesitant to wander far. Untrained as he was in medicines or healing he knew there was nothing else he could do, but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of helplessness that had taken up residence in his stomach.

Determined to find a way to feel useful, Aegon spotted the group of soldiers he’d left behind to deal with the hunting party and made his way to them through the milling camp. They were returning with the bodies of Bolton’s men on the backs of their horses, and he found Jon Connington examining the corpses with unemotional efficiency that had lately become characteristic to his person. The soldiers all bowed before being dismissed, leaving the two alone.

“Bolton’s men?” Jon asked, holding one head up by a scruff of dirty hair before letting it fall. “That’s the fourth pack we’ve taken down this week.”

“I know.” Aegon answered, scanning the bodies for Theon Greyjoy. If he’d been in the woods as long as Sansa had, he would have been easy to spot. Thankfully, Theon’s body was not one of the corpses present. “But there’s one difference here. This was no simple patrol. These men had hounds.”

“Then what were they doing chasing some poor woman through the forest?”

“She’s not just some poor woman.” Aegon retorted shortly. “She said her name is Sansa Stark.”

“No.” Jon said, looking at the tent and then back at Aegon with something near glee in his eyes. “She’s lying. She can’t be.”

“I don’t believe she is. Think about it, this explains why we’ve seen a sudden uptick in his patrols and why there’s extra fortifications around the castle. Our scouts have assumed that it was because of our presence here, but I don’t think it is.”

Jon looked back at Aegon. “He’s lost his key to the North, and now we have it.”

Bewildered, Aegon shook his head. “Is that all you can think about? You don’t care to know _why_ he had a team of five men and hounds chasing one woman, supposedly _his wife_ , through the woods?” Aegon took a few steps, trying to breathe and control his reaction. “Doesn’t it bother you that he’s torturing my people? He flays men on a daily basis and has them erected about the woods as a warning to me and any others who would challenge him.”

“It’s just a tactic, soon enough-”

“No.” Aegon said, cutting him off. “ I refuse to wait any longer, we move on Winterfell tomorrow.” Aegon turned around with the decision made but of course Jon was at his side at once, trying to keep up with Aegon’s long strides.

“Why not wait until the Stark girl can be spoken with? She could have valuable information about Ramsay’s forces and plans, and let’s not forget that she grew up in that castle. She’ll know more about it than any other person alive”

“I’m not going to use her, Jon.” 

“Who said you would be using her? She left Winterfell for a reason, maybe she’ll want to help.”

Aegon stopped and exhaled loudly. While Aegon certainly owed his life and likely more to Jon, he’d felt their relationship shift not long after Aegon began his campaign. At one time Aegon had obeyed Jon like a son would a father, venerating the wisdom and experience Jon had earned through his years of being a knight. However, much to Jon’s surprise, Aegon had started making his own decisions, notably so after declaring himself King of the Seven Kingdoms, something he had done at Jon’s persistent urging. 

Naming himself king came with no shortage of problems, few benefits, and painted a perfect target on his back. While it was a necessity, Aegon had disproved greatly of the timing. He might be backed by the Stormlands and the Riverlands, be in fragile alliances with Highgarden and Dorne, but he thought that hardly earned him the title he claimed. He was about to speak when he saw Maggie approaching out of the corner of his eye and instead he turned towards her eagerly, thankful for the change of topic. “What news?”

“The Maester and I both agree that she’ll survive. She’s got a fever, but we’ve given her a draft that should bring it down overnight. There’s something else, though.” The grey haired woman looked discreetly around, making sure no one could hear her. “I think it’s best if we speak about it in private.”

“Go on.” Jon said, jerking his head towards the horses. “I’ll see to it that Ramsay’s men are disposed of.”

Aegon turned to go but stopped, his memory jogged. “Jon, one last thing. Sansa mentioned that she escaped with the help of Theon Greyjoy, but that he let himself be captured so that she might escape. Send out a search party, if there’s a chance he evaded capture then we need to find him.”

Jon nodded and parted ways with Maggie and Aegon, who made directly for the war tent. Once alone, Maggie continued, albeit reluctantly.

“She’s been treated deplorably.” She said, and Aegon was shocked to see the look on her face. Her eyes shined with the beginnings of tears and a mix of anger and sadness he’d rarely seen. “I won’t go into detail, it’s not my place, but she has injuries too healed to have happened in the last two days.”

“Ramsay.” Aegon said, trying to control his voice. After listening to months of horror stories and first hand accounts of Ramsay’s behavior, all it took was the mere mention of Bolton to make his blood run hot with anger. “They happened at Ramsay’s hand and that’s why she fled.”

“I believe so, but until she wakes up there’s no way of knowing, and I fear it might be some time before we can ask. We can’t even keep her awake long enough to bathe, the women are having to hold her upright so that she doesn’t slip into the water and drown.”

“I’ll speak with her when the time comes.” 

“I’m afraid that might not be a good idea.” Maggie replied hesitantly, obviously trying to be delicate with her words. “Some of the injuries she’s suffered… There’s a chance that she might not respond well to you.”

A new rush of feelings surged up and Aegon brought his fist down hard on top of the wooden table top. “When I started this, I said that men like Ramsay Bolton and the Mountain would pay, that I would never allow someone to suffer the same way my mother did.”

“You can’t save everyone.” Maggie said, reaching a hand out and resting it on his shoulder.

“Perhaps not, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. I have to talk to her, Maggie. She trusted me to save her, I have to believe she’ll speak with me. She deserves to know that she’s safe with us. However, if she chooses not to speak with me, I will respect her wishes.”

Maggie left without another word and Aegon sat down heavily, his eyes falling automatically to the war table. He always found it easiest to order his mind when he was away from people and the pulls of obligation and today he sorely needed it. He knew at once that he’d been speaking with haste earlier, there was little strategic in moving on Winterfell tomorrow, nor did it seem right to do so without Sansa Stark’s blessing. No, better to wait for her to wake up and Aegon have the chance to explain his position to her. Though he had to admit that wasn’t the only benefit to holding off for a few more days. 

Despite all of his travels, Aegon had yet to meet anyone he had much in common with, but he thought Sansa Stark might be different. Like himself, Sansa was one of the last known members of a once much larger family and would know how truly alone that could make someone feel. Though, he would wager that her pain was likely much greater than his, as she’d been given the bittersweet gift of knowing her family before having them taken away. He couldn’t even imagine the fortitude it would have taken to endure such hardship, but it made him think of her family’s sigil and it seemed a fitting symbol of her strength and perseverance.\

If Aegon had been in her shoes, he wasn’t sure he would have made it half as far.

===========

Trying to wake up, Sansa had a hard time discerning where or when she was. She couldn’t recall everything that had taken place before she had gone to sleep, leaving her with large gaps of time missing. Her memory was too choppy and incoherent, giving everything a vaporous, dream like quality when she tried to focus on it. She knew she had managed to sleep through the stitching and dressing of her wounds, and she counted herself lucky for that, for now they felt rows of tiny razors, each movement sending waves of red hot pain down the back of her arm. Between the pain and her unreliable memory, she found this state of being an altogether unpleasant one, and very readily gave herself back over to the cool, quiet numbness of sleep, finding that much more acceptable.

The process of waking up the next time was a gradual one as her mind took its time to leisurely reconnect with the body it had temporarily left behind. When she finally sat up each limb was stiff as she attempted to move them, her muscles protesting painfully as she stretched them. She found herself to be in a small bed, a brazier perched somewhere a few feet away. She was buried in heavy blankets and could feel the pleasant warmth of a hot stone placed at her feet, the combination of pressure and warmth giving her a sense of safety and peacefulness. 

She could hear hushed voices from somewhere behind her, and wondered in an absent sort of way who they might be. She turned her head to see and found Aegon speaking with a maester, a knight, and a small elderly woman whom Sansa vaguely recognized from the procession of people earlier. The maester seemed to be droning on, to the obvious annoyance of the small gray haired woman, something Sansa found amusing in her half awake state. She watched the group intently, studying each of the figures present. 

Since she could only really see the woman, as the other's backs were all turned, she focused mainly on her. Though she hadn’t meant to, Sansa stared at her long enough that the woman felt her watching and they locked eyes, making Sansa panic. 

“Your majesty!” The woman blurted out, ruthlessly cutting the maester off with a blunt gesture. 

“Margaret!" The maester said, his chest puffing up like some indignent bird. "I do say-”

“Oh shove off and say it later, Percival.”

The woman called Margaret moved with surprising speed and was at once trying to ease Sansa back down with soft soothing noises. Sansa briefly considered doing just that and ducking back under the covers but stood her ground instead, her face the picture of stoicism. She suffered a few more moments of the woman’s cooing but found it to be more than she could presently tolerate. Sansa waved her away somewhat irritably and stood slowly, stretching her body to its full length it an experimental fashion. Her body found this acceptable, and so allowed Sansa to straighten up all the way and take a few steps. The woman, however, remained unconvinced, and continued to make noises of dismay as Sansa regained her barings. 

Aegon stood at a respectable distance away, watching the proceedings with poorly disguised humor. “Maggie, let her breath.” 

He reached for a heavy robe and handed it to Sansa, who promptly wrapped herself in it. It was made out of fine wool, the inside lined with fur. “Thank you.” She said, immediately grateful for its warmth.

Upon immediate inspection Sansa found him to be as handsome as she’d remembered, but not at all what she had expected a Targaryen to look like. She’d always pictured them as a frail, finely built family, but this young man was anything but. _‘Could that be the Dornish influence?’_ She wondered, trying to picture the only Dornish man she’d ever met. Finding the vision unwilling to come to mind at the moment she looked up at Aegon with something that wasn’t quite a smile on her face, basking in the energy he seemed to radiate. It was no wonder he’d gained such a following.

“My lady.” He said in formal greeting, bowing his head with perfect courtesy. “I would like you to know that all of Bolton’s men in the woods have been captured and dealt with accordingly. No word of your rescue will reach Winterfell, and while I have no word of Theon yet, I won’t stop looking until I do.”

“I want to thank you for everything. Were it not for you, I’m not sure what would have happened.” Well, she could guess, but she would rather not. 

“There’s no need to thank me. Any honorable man would have done the same.”

At that, Sansa almost laughed. Instead she made a low, ambiguous noise in her throat. “There’s a shortage of honorable men, then.”

“I find that for most people when fear comes, honor is one of the first things that goes.”

“That may be so, for there is plenty of fear running rampant.” She said, looking around the tent at their onlookers, who all simultaneously found a reason to make a polite exit. “Though, there seems to be little of it here.”

“I made the choice long ago that I would never rule my people through fear.”

‘Rule, is it?’ Between the way he’d been addressed by the elderly woman and this statement, Sansa thought it likely that Aegon had already declared himself king. “That’s an admirable sentiment.” Sansa still felt steady on her feet but she took a few precautionary steps back towards the cot just to be on the safe side. “Though I’ve met my fair share of kings and queens, not many of them would agree to live by it.”

Aegon hoovered anxiously a few feet away, clearly afraid she would fall over at any moment. “So surely you more than anyone can understand why I’m here.”

“This place.” She gestured around them. “A camp? For your army?”

“It is. We came north while Bolton was distracted by Stannis. We were aided by some of your countrymen.”

“You found Northern lords willing to help you?” She raised an eyebrow, finding this difficult to believe.

“When I told them that I intended to free you and restore the Stark family to power they did everything they could to get us here.”

Sansa blinked slowly and took a deep breath. “You’re here because you’re preparing to attack Winterfell…” 

“Sansa, please sit down, you look unwell.” Aegon said, offering his arm. Sansa took it and let him lead her back to the cot where she sat with her head in her hands for a few moments. 

“I still plan on taking back Winterfell, Sansa.” He said, grabbing an abandoned chair. “Ramsay Bolton’s tendencies towards violence are well known, as is the fact that you lived with him unwillingly. I will not let you or the North suffer any longer at the hands of such a man.”

“Then what are you doing here, wandering around in the woods!?” She cried, unable to temper her reaction. “Why have you waited to attack? My people are still being abused.” She found it difficult to find words to describe the severity of the situation in the castle. “I was so convinced that I wouldn’t survive another night with him I jumped off the battlements to get away.” 

He was quiet for a long moment and the silence that filled the tent was charged with tension. When he finally spoke, Sansa let go of the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. 

“I cannot express how much I regret not moving on Winterfell sooner, especially now. All I can do is tell you that I’m truly sorry, and hope that you can find it within yourself to forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” Sansa sighed, shaking her head. “None of this is your fault.” Besides, Aegon attacking Winterfell wouldn’t have guaranteed her safety. If anything, it might have jeopardized it more. 

Aegon reached out a hand and placed it over one of hers, holding it lightly. “I may not be able to change what happened, but I will do everything I can to make all of this right Sansa. I promise. ”

“Then let me help.” Sansa said with determination, sitting up a little straighter. “I know that castle. I was raised in it. I know its weakest points and I know how many men Ramsay has at his disposal. I can help you tear him down.”

He smiled at her, relaxing. “I was hoping you would say something like that. I don’t doubt that we could take the castle by force, but there will be less blood shed if we’re well informed. I would be greatly indebted to you should you choose to help us, but I do recognize the position it will put you in.”

Sansa watched him carefully, her face revealing nothing of the mind working behind it. “I will not only have aligned myself and the North with a Targaryen, but I will have thrown my people into war once again.” There was no question of whether or not she would try and retake her home, at this point it was only a question of how. The loose plan she had devised with Theon had involved traveling to the Wall to find Jon to help her rally the North to their cause. Now a possibly safer, though far more risky avenue presented itself. If she bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen she would be declaring outright war on Cersei and that wasn’t something she would do lightly, despite Aegon’s supposed kindness. If life had taught her anything it was to never take someone at their face value, and so she recognized the difficult position she was in. Should Aegon succeed in his conquest she would likely regret not supporting him in this crucial moment, but if he lost it could mean the end of everything, for him and for her.

“I mean you no offense but I know that the past few years have not been easy for your house. I know that your numbers are depleted and that more will fall under the command of Bolton in the coming weeks. All I ask is for your friendship. I will not ask for fealty that I have not earned, nor men that you cannot spare. I will give you back your home and prove to you and your people that this is not just a conquest. This is about what’s best for the North. Should you decide not to join my alliance after we have retaken Winterfell I vow to leave you and the North in peace.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow, trying to gauge his sincerity. “And what of our families' more recent past?” 

Aegon shrugged a little, sighing. “I don’t remember my father, or my grandfather. I know the stories, I’ve read all the histories, and I know that I should feel more for them, but I can’t stop seeing all the mistakes they made. Every vicious thing my grandfather did, what my father did to your aunt… I can’t make it go away. All I can do is try and atone for what they’ve done to the Seven Kingdoms, to liberate it from tyranny and let it heal. To do that, I have to take back the Iron Throne, and to do that I need allies.”

“You’ve declared yourself king. What kingdoms stand behind you?”

“I currently hold the Stormlands and the Riverlands, and both Doran Martell and Olena Tyrell have pledged their forces to my cause.”

 _‘Dorne and Highgarden… Impressive.’_ Sansa thought, feeling the need to give credit where it was due. Olena Tyrell wasn’t a woman who was easily swayed and if Aegon had managed to align himself with her...

Sansa wasn’t sure how far she should press him so she gave up the inquisition for the moment and spoke frankly. “You said that you know that I didn’t live with Ramsay willingly?” At his nod she continued, trying to stick to the bare facts. “I married him because it was supposed to keep me safe from Cersei Lannister. If you’re honestly telling me that you will help me regain my home and overthrow Cersei...” Sansa stopped, taking a deep breath. “Then as soon as I regain control of Winterfell, House Stark will stand beside you.” And the consequences be damned.

Aegon seemed to be genuinely affected by her words and his whole face lit up in response. “I thank you, Lady Sansa. You will not regret this.” He rose from the small wooden chair that he was perched on and held out a hand to her. “I was just about to have dinner before you woke, if you feel well enough I would like to invite you to join me. They’ll be time for me to answer all the questions you have.”

Sansa took his hand and rose from the small cot, giving him a small smile in return for the kindness of his offer. “I would be honored, your grace.”

“You should be warned through...” He said conspiratorially, eyeing her questioningly. 

“About what?” She asked, raising an eyebrow with concern. 

“There’s a good chance Maggie won’t let you eat any actual food. I got lost once when I was younger, wandered three days in the sands. When they found me I was so hungry I could have eaten a horse. Instead, I had to drink Maggie’s broths for a week.”

Sansa laughed out loud in response to this, surprising herself in the process.

“Don’t laugh!” Aegon said, feigning indignation. “That was the worst week of my life.”

“Worse than the three days lost in a desert? Or being at war?”

“Decidedly so.”


End file.
